And yet the words they uttered seemed to change Their meaning to my ear. For the one face I looked for was not there, The one low voice was mute; Only an unseen presence filled the air, Now I look back, and meadow, manse, and stream Dimly my thought defines; I only see a dream within a dream I only hear above his place of rest The infinite longings of a troubled breast, There in seclusion and remote from men The wizard hand lies cold, Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen, And left the tale half told. Ah! who shall lift that wand of magic power, And the lost clew regain? The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower Unfinished must remain ! THE WIND OVER THE CHIMNEY. EE, the fire is sinking low, While above them still I cower, While a moment more I linger, Though the clock, with lifted finger, Sings the blackened log a tune From a school-boy at his play, When they both were young together, Heart of youth and summer weather Making all their holiday. And the night-wind rising, hark! In the midnight and the snow, Ever wilder, fiercer, grander, Every quivering tongue of flame Into darkness sinks your fire!" Then the flicker of the blaze Throb the harp-strings of the heart. And again the tongues of flame "These are prophets, bards, and seers; In the horoscope of nations, Like ascendant constellations, They control the coming years." But the night-wind cries: "Despair! Leave no long-enduring marks; At God's forges incandescent Mighty hammers beat incessant, These are but the flying sparks. "Dust are all the hands that wrought; Suddenly the flame sinks down ; And alone the night-wind drear Clamors louder, wilder, vaguer,""Tis the brand of Meleager Dying on the hearth-stone here!" And I answer, "Though it be, Why should that discomfort me? No endeavor is in vain; Its reward is in the doing, Is the prize the vanquished gain.” THE BELLS OF LYNN. HEARD AT NAHANT. CURFEW of the setting sun! O requiem of the dying day! From the dark belfries of yon cloudcathedral wafted, Your sounds aerial seem to float, O Bells of Lynn! Borne on the evening wind across the crimson twilight, O'er land and sea they rise and fall, O Bells of Lynn ! The fisherman in his boat, far out beyond the headland, Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, O Bells of Lynn! Over the shining sands the wandering cattle homeward Follow each other at your call, O Bells of Lynn ! |